


Not Yet Twilight

by SadakoTetsuwan



Series: McHanzo Week 2016 [7]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Sweaters, Day 7, Growing Old Together, Holiday Season, M/M, McHanzo Week 2016, Old Hanzo, Old Married Couple, Old McCree, Soft old gays, THEY'RE HAPPY THIS TIME, horny old men - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 16:24:56
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8998171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SadakoTetsuwan/pseuds/SadakoTetsuwan
Summary: Nothing deep here, just soft warm old gays being soft and warm and old.Happy Holidays, and Happy McHanzo week!





	

“Your fingers don’t hurt too badly, do they?” Hanzo asked, glancing over his shoulder. The cold always bothered McCree’s joints nowadays.

“Nah, don’t worry about it, darlin’,” McCree smiled, slowly brushing Hanzo’s long mane of snowy white hair. He’d already been graying when they had first met, but McCree was still surprised at how quickly his raven black hair had faded. It didn’t seem to bother Hanzo, though—he still looked regal as ever. Sage-like. Like he ought to be living on top of a mountain teaching kung fu or something. Over the years, his own hair had gone the same steely gray as a late spring thunderhead.

McCree was just glad they both had all their hair.

“It will be good to see the boys again...and the grandchildren,” Hanzo mused, a soft smile on his lips as McCree’s fingers worked, pulling his hair back into a topknot. Given how much he liked playing with Hanzo’s hair, Jesse had never been particularly good at hairstyling—it was lucky they never had a daughter. But now, he had the pains of age to excuse his slightly messy handiwork. McCree insisted it was only the cold that bothered him, but Hanzo had often spied him painfully flexing his fingers even in springtime. He wished Jesse wasn’t so proud sometimes. If he would just admit he was in pain...

His eyes slid closed as he listened to the quiet rustle of silk, his ribbon having been worn so soft by years of use.

“All done,” McCree announced, the bit of impish glee in his voice, causing Hanzo’s eyes to shoot open. He quickly reached for a mirror, examining McCree’s handiwork.

“Did you—did you tie a bow in my hair?”

“I think it looks sweet as can be,” McCree grinned, the mirth of a much younger man dancing in his eyes.

“Is it not enough to make me wear this ridiculous sweater?” Hanzo asked, looking down at the overly large Christmas sweater, complete with blinking colored lights and snowflakes that really fell over the winter scenery—no two were alike, according to the saleswoman McCree had spoken to.

“C’mon, baby, you look awful fetchin’ in it.”

“That’s it. Come here,” Hanzo ordered, turning McCree around in their places and seizing the hair brush. Despite his firm tone, he, too, was grinning.

“Hoo, been a while since I been in this position,” McCree chuckled, raising his brows suggestively.

“Liar,” Hanzo smirked in return, wrapping his arms around his husband’s waist and holding him for a moment. “It’s merely been a while since you could _maintain_ this position,” he added, chuckling lowly in his ear.

“Aww, now that’s a low blow,” McCree pouted. “Reckon Angela’s got any o’ them little blue pills?”

“That is _not_ the pill you need,” Hanzo scolded playfully, earning a giggle from the other man.

“Then maybe jes’ a little bit o’ whatever keeps her so young,” McCree mused as Hanzo began brushing his unruly hair out.

“Hmm...perhaps,” Hanzo subtly agreed. “I read somewhere that 80 is the new 20. We simply have to get you there in one piece to find out, hm?”

“Heh, reckon so.”

Hanzo worked in silence, enjoying the warm weight of the man sitting between his legs, his affectionate gaze constantly falling to his metal hand. Their prosthetics were ever youthful—his legs never tired, and Jesse’s hand never lost strength. Somehow, that knowledge made the gold band welded into his steel finger all those years ago that much more meaningful. His own fingers darted back and forth, working through Jesse’s hair with a soft smile.

After a few minutes, Hanzo let out a soft giggle and draped two long, iron-gray braids across McCree’s shoulders, nuzzling the exposed nape of his neck playfully. “There. We are even,” he grinned, squeezing his waist again. McCree picked up the mirror and did the smallest double take as he caught sight of himself. He’d never looked more like a diyi...he almost couldn’t look himself in the eye out of respect for that image.

“Ahéhe'e,” he smiled, resting his cheek against Hanzo’s head.

“What?” Hanzo asked, chuckling softly as he tried to parse the string of sounds that had just come out of McCree’s mouth. Not quite a laugh, certainly not English…

“It’s my people’s word for ‘thank you’,” he replied softly, reaching up and gently grasping one of his braids.

“Ah, thank _you_ ,” he smiled, nuzzling McCree’s shoulder and pressing his chest to Jesse’s broad back. There was still quite a bit of muscle there, though not as firm and well-wrought as when they had met. He certainly wasn’t in prime condition anymore, either, of course (no matter what Jesse insisted)--Hanzo had no room to judge.

All things considered, however, they had aged surprisingly gracefully over their 30 years together. Especially considering that their retirement from Overwatch had moved directly into starting a family and working seven days a week on a cattle ranch—no rest for the wicked, as Jesse had joked. Though, upon consideration, the work probably kept them just as young as one another’s laughter and smiles…and their activity in the day certainly kept their bodies fit enough for their activity at night. Perhaps that was why Jesse was so sore in the mornings, Hanzo mused with a soft giggle.

“Well, reckon we’d better make sure chef’s on schedule fer tonight,” McCree said, standing and stretching a bit, wincing as his back popped. Too many years of rolling and diving, and not enough maintenance on the machine that was his body, he knew. Maybe he _would_ talk to Angela—she and Genji hadn’t missed Christmas on the ranch in thirty years. Damn near immortal, they were.

He watched Hanzo cast him one of those dark, smoldering gazes on his way out of the room, lighting the same fire in his belly that he always had. He hurried after him, catching Hanzo around the waist and burying his face in the shorter man’s neck, nuzzling him and earning a soft giggle.

“Jesse, we _just_ left the bedroom,” Hanzo laughed quietly, his hand falling to the man’s metal wrist and holding him lightly as McCree’s hand ventured farther south.

“We could always go back—ain’t old folks s’ppoosed to stay in bed anyhow?” he asked, as if either of them knew how to properly be old.

“We’re supposed to go to bed early, you rogue,” Hanzo smirked, leaning back against McCree’s warm frame. “...Though I suppose technically, it _is_ early,” he giggled, allowing himself to be pulled back through the doorway.

“Merry Christmas, buttercup,” McCree purred, toeing the door shut behind them. “Always did like celebrating the Japanese way.”


End file.
